"bouncy" poems
Basketball is not a sport
All they ever do is run around the court
The players use an orange bouncy ball
By the way, they're 11 feet tall
And the net is only 10 feet high
"How we gonna score, maybe bend our thigh?"
Saying basketball's a sport is like sportifying 4 square
What sports can you play while you're in a wheelchair?
Basketball's just an activity
So just dunk the ball for infinity
Don't be stupid, be a smarty
Don't go to a basketball party
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 10:08 AM UTC
One picture puzzle piece
Lyin' on the sidewalk,
One picture puzzle piece
Soakin' in the rain.
It might be a button of blue
On the coat of the woman
Who lived in a shoe.
It might be a magical bean,
Or a fold in the red
Velvet robe of a queen.
It might be the one little bite
Of the apple her stepmother
Gave to Snow White.
It might be the veil of a bride
Or a bottle with some evil genie inside.
It might be a small tuft of hair
On the big bouncy belly
Of Bobo the Bear.
It might be a bit of the cloak
Of the Witch of the West
As she melted to smoke.
It might be a shadowy trace
Of a tear that runs down an angel's face.
Nothing has more possibilities
Than one old wet picture puzzle piece.
15.4k
A new day, press play, a challenge for one.
Solo for I, never won.
Spawned like magic, 100 people? That’s tragic.
Less would I prefer,
From the bus, I jump and glide
From the wailing heights, I go to a bush and hide.
Found a camp, a player I’ve tramped,
One closer to being a champ.
Many people less, beginning to stress,
Loot everywhere, what a mess!
In this battle, I thought I would be fine,
But in the distance, I saw a white line,
With the numbers of sixty-nine,
A soccer skin! A soccer skin! Oh God, oh why?
Building fast as the speed of light,
All I knew that it could be a hard fight.
Because, with death in my mind, I didn’t know what to do,
Thoughts boggled up, like the texture of goo.
I placed a trap on the wall of wood,
I waited suddenly, wondering when they would,
Yes! I caught them with my trap!
One closer to being a champ.
Found a vehicle of an interesting shape,
Bouncy like a ball, all around, on the landscape,
A Baller! Yes! Now I’m glad,
But no need to use it, I got a launchpad!
However, I could bounce around, Boom! Bam! and Pow!
Then I could tell them, “who’s laughing now?”
However now, I’m in the final two,
I shot his build down, if only he knew,
Now it is over, show off with a ramp,
Now I’ve become the champ.
May 23, 2019
May 23, 2019 at 8:26 PM UTC
it's the management
here to inform you
your lust has been hacked
we know what your thinking
what you hide
we are all up in your business
like cyber terrorist's
don't ruin your life with to much self respect
we are all watching you **********
to mamma mia meets a hundred shades of crimson
and fight club blood ****
while you ***
screaming
ooooooooh god
licking
holes and poles
like a pig at a trough
praying to be handcuffed and on your knees
sweating and hysterical, a red moon struck **** face
high on drugs
in a dream better then this life has to offer
life is full of yogas
***** pony position
bouncy bouncy
i'm the light in your darkness
i know what you do
i want pieces of you, you wont show anyone else
your sickness, is my own
you are my love slave
turning me *********
who loves to hurt you
who's the *****
who's the switch
your flawless
now
cry me a river
move a little bit faster and to the left
your **** is a cartoon
**** grinning emoji
bleeding shrieking
fu fu fu fu *******
your brains running out of your eyes
gimmie all your venom
***** movie poem's
*** tongue and *****
your mouth like hemoglobin jewelry
saliva diamonds
kiss that
you'll never go back
squealing smooth heat
breathing winds of perfume
love and pain
united by
tragedy and desire
by
the grotesque and the beautiful
like thirst holds stones
stop crying
you know baby
you look your best on the toilet bowl
shameless
a delicious little *******
that holds me close to life
like a baby to the womb
please
stop banging on the door
i'm using this stall
Thank you
The Management
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 11:43 AM UTC
Dear Brianna Evelyn Heins,
Stop Spanx sitting me, I’m old enough to take shape of my own.
Sincerely,
You’re Hips
P.S.
Stop convincing the lips to call me flab-u-lous!
I have my own name.
Stop knocking the knuckles to bone
To hear that hollow hound sound, now don’t use me in your measurement references, I want to live a day
Without spinning round the bouncy bands of your operation game
I’ve seen tweezers fall out of your eyes, to plummet under my moon shone complexion
Please keep in mind the brain is a liar.
And well, I have no twins; your pessimistic ways don’t acknowledge my individuality
The color of shame is not moving, while your red majestic
beast hair torturously tickles my clear space of face.
Brianna,
The brain is a liar!
I know you are told you’re observant;
The deception is grand
Stop pretending you know me
Let me dance dizzy
with the calves
Like coming out of the closet
I’m showing you I’ll never be straight
but brains whisper “weep, weep, weepweepweep”
at the sight of the salt soaked, taffy stretched skin
the brain sends me signals, but I beg for the heart to seep in
Please listen up
rarely do I talk,
for you think words are merely a sound
but the profoundness hasn’t shaken
I know you must feel my urges like
I’m on tonight and my hips don’t lie
beauty may lay in the fragile way I sway
said I’m below
But to hell with you
because this bridge can be crossed
but embers fly in you eyes
and the brain is a liar
a family member I wholeheartedly despise.
Jun 21, 2012
Jun 21, 2012 at 10:32 PM UTC
Though you've barely had a ramble
are no wayward canine daddy of note
that brief encounter in our brambles
has left the experts fearing a cancerous growth
So we starve you of your pine nuts and bacon rinds
so we can feed you anaesthetic
and betray you to the thief of time
only to make you, I imagine, feel pathetic
And you often so full of life's exasperate scurry
I worry
will the shine stray from your eyes
those hazel pools of so much of
my feeling mature, just for
pertaining to a creature's care
we all seem in too much of a hurry
to stifle what little spirit
that surrounds us
to wear
down on every minor aspect
of childish delight
in this silent sacrament
of the aging process
and with arguably years
of your fatherhood left
in the very ***** some dry eyed savant
decides it correct we should tamper with
Tomorrow I will snuggle you in favoured, bouncy eiderdowns
that will blanket your unknowing
and treat you as if
you were an eastering child
on cured hams and other saltiness
after you awaken
from those strangest enforcements of sleep
and through our eyes we will trade more secrets to keep
And we will hope, as we only can, that it was for the best
For you, Yorkshire's son, or Sheringham's
And consider with all of your
exhuming breath
That we meddled, stilling over life
To cheat a slightly delayed death.
Apr 11, 2017
Apr 11, 2017 at 5:29 PM UTC
Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder
You may now want to take out the recorder
This world may label it as a weakness
But I’m quite fond that it gives me a type of uniqueness
Although my mind bounces around
Like a bouncy ball all over town
It sometimes allows me to be still
When I find something that gives me a thrill
Instead of giving me that medication
Allow my mind to experience that sensation
Of it’s ability to go full throttle top gear
It may seem irrational and unclear
But trust me the task assigned
Will be completed from a mastermind
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 10:09 PM UTC
There is a sequence of small events, signs; that as they occur point us in the direction of the mid-winter festival. This morning: the first snow; iced rain, not the soft down-like floaty stuff, but hard crystal-shaped foot-crunching shards. Yesterday, it was on with the wooly hat, the padded waistcoat and a more than just sprightly walk in a park of leafless trees. Everywhere, a damp coldness.
Sitting companionably after the meal, a fire spitting in the hearth had brought a glow to her cheeks. She was replete with glowness, her speech dancing too and fro after the family phone calls of a Sunday night. Outside, the sound of wind against the house.
Settling herself against him, feet tucked under his reclining body, she tells him about her niece, a birthday girl just two last week. This little one was touchingly innocent of what happens on a birthday. She knew it was coming, next week, soon, then tomorrow. Imagine her the night before: just think you'll wake up and be two! And that's what this birthday business is? She wakes and there is something special in the air, her sister smile-full, bouncy with expectation. Her parents’ voices are louder than usual, there are bigger hugs and longer kisses. Birthday, birthday, birthday. Her grandparents arrive. More hugs. THEN her father appears with a cake! It's only just after breakfast, but the large people are having coffee and there's her juice cup and a cake! Birthday, birthday, birthday shouts her sister. For me, a cake for me? My cake? Daddy lights the candles! Oh, oh, oh. This is . . . and something wrapped in pretty paper is being handed to me. Her sister, being wonderfully sisterly shows her how to remove the wrapping. A book! Read it to me now, now, please. It's my birthday, now.
This is a sign he thinks later when in bed she folds herself to him, arranges his arms and hands to hold her into sleep, still glowing a little. This is surely a sign. A child's discovery of the birth day. The joy it brings, the way it lights up our lives. And never again will her father see quite that measure of surprise and delight in his daughter's face. Next year she'll be full of expectation, know all about birthdays . . and be three.
Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 1:56 AM UTC
*Bouncy, swirly, colors see me.
Bouncy, swirly, colors see me.
Bouncy, swirly, colors see me.*
Depression of Science
Believe in possible
achieve the probable
accept the inevitable
laws are boundaries..
*Oh, those sprinkle's shards
they hug the lamplight so?*
Possible, they believe me
Laws, condor, deceiving...
Fate enviable acceptance
-evening
Akha, Okto, Echo, Eight-
*Bouncy, swirly, colors see me.
Bouncy, swirly, colors see me.
Bouncy, swirly, colors see me.*
Was it one or eight?
I
ate
One
then
Eight?
118
1118
1118
11118
111118
8
**Shhhh...you hear that?
...there's something in the closet...**
it's like a
ant on crack
a ant on
Crack
it's like a
ant on crack
a ant on
ANT ON CRACK
nano,
-Crack
it's like a
ant on crack
ANT ON CRACK
ant on
Crack
ant on
Crack
ant on
Crack
ant on
Crack
it's like a
ANT ON CRACK
..fingertips in heaven
Heaven's a construct,
by a carpenter and a drywaller....
and a painter...
Controlled by
Home's Despotism
*Bouncy, swirly, colors see me.
Bouncy, swirly, colors see me.
Bouncy, swirly, colors see me.*
*Bouncy, swirly, colors see me.
Bouncy, swirly, colors see me.
Bouncy, swirly, colors see me.*
*Bouncy, swirly, colors see me.
Bouncy, swirly, colors see me.
Bouncy, swirly, colors see me.*
it's like a
* ANT ON CRACK *
Sep 5, 2017
Sep 5, 2017 at 8:16 PM UTC
Mushrooms made from toffee
Made bouncy by tiny fairies
Leaves dangling in their face
laced with pineapple berries.
The moon which is cheese,
of course, shines down
the valley on lemon crops
perched on lavender hills
with coconut tops.
of course.
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 6:58 AM UTC
They think happiness is a bouquet of helium balloons. Picture everyone in the world, each holding a bunch of balloons on strings. Most people's balloons are plump and bouncy, and they float really well. Some people's balloons might be droopy because they're sad, or sick or something. So the people that know me think my balloons are just droopy, and they try to help. They say, "Here, have some helium. Let's get your balloons all floaty again." But I'm not holding any balloons at all. So even if they gave me helium- tanks and tanks of it- there's nothing to put it in. My balloons are just completely missing.
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 12:55 PM UTC
HaHA, I've done it! I've created a device
That can tap into my subconscious
and translate it for all to hear.
I will win the Nobel Prize!
I will be rich beyond my wildest dreams!
People will LIKE me!
So let's see here....I put on the cap, set the throttobombulator to 8.
Adjust for fuzzy dialation...set the circuit threshold to .79, make
sure the lucid translation synapses are firing...and yes. The next
words you hear will surely be written in History books one day,
much like Thomas Edison's first phonograph recording, or the
first telephone call!
Neural connection is active. Transmitting
**TRANSGENDERED KANGAROOS FORNICATE IN THE
PURPLE SHADE OF BETTE MIDLER'S THIGHS. PLEASE
PERFORM ******** AT THE BEHEST OF BUDDHIST
MONKS WITH LISPS. COUNT TO TEN AND BECOME
A BUXOM BLONDE ***** WITH BOUNCY *******
WHEN THE CLOCK STRIKES TWELVE, CINDARELLA IS
ON HER KNEES AND ELBOWS BECAUSE IT'S ******
HARD TO GET LOW ENOUGH TO PLEASURE A DWARF**
Oh dear. This can't be right....now where's that 'off' switch?
**JACK AND JILL WENT OFF THE PILL SO JACK COULD
BE A FATHER. JACK WENT DOWN TO LONDON TOWN
AND PUNCHED THE DALAI LAMA. EDIBLE *******
GIVE YOU INDIGESTION. DO YOU KISS YOUR MOTHER
WITH THAT MOUTH, BECAUSE YOU SHOULD. (AND USE
SOME TONGUE THIS TIME)**
Oh My...Ladies and Gentlemen, It's clear that my invention
is experiencing technical difficulties. If you would please be patient---
**SATIN BRAS DON'T CHAFE. NONE OF THE SMURFS
HAD BLUE ***** THANKS TO SMURFETTE. I WONDER
WHAT MARY MAGDELINE WAS LIKE IN THE SACK? **
STUPIDSmashPieceSmashof GARBAGESMASH
DoNT LikE iT? tucK iT bAcK!!
Connection Lost
I...erm...clearly have some more work to do before it is ready
for the pubic--er..public. I have run into some...translation
errors...and need to re lubricate--CALIBRATE a few things.
Please don't tell my mother.
Feb 8, 2012
Feb 8, 2012 at 12:12 AM UTC
Balloons are round,
They make my day.
Up in the sky
They bounce and sway.
Balloons are bouncy,
and they squeak loud,
But if you pop them
You draw a crowd.
Some don't like balloons.
I think that that's sad.
But to each his own,
So said my dad.
But look, now I ramble.
So here I'll sign off.
Enjoy this crummy poem.
Or don't. Whatever.
... Rhyme? Nah...
Nov 11, 2012
Nov 11, 2012 at 8:27 AM UTC
Her belly swollen like a mother should be.
I ask her every morning "my dear how much candy did you eat because your SO gosh **** sweet?"
I love her because my flower is growing as we speak inside her.
Her skin is so clear and all a glow, the color of a hershey kiss.
A hershey kiss that I would kiss over and over again.
Her eyes are so round and bright like two big dark chocolate whoopers.
Two big dark chocolate whoopers that I love getting to the coconut center.
Her hair so bouncy and thick, just like cotton candy.
Cotton candy that will be passed down to our little ginger bread man.
And oh her smile, you could never forget, so bright and lively like skittles, oh what I would do taste the rainbow once more.
She is MY sugar mama, I would never trade her for the universe. Baby I love you and baby I love OUR baby.
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 5:32 PM UTC
To see things through child's eyes
A world seen different
Not like an adult
Everything has its place
Order,
Structure,
Harmony,
But every now and then,
Relax,
Let your hair down
(Even if your bald)
The child within needs to be free
Fun,
Enjoyable
Crazy
Be like the child within,
Play with your young ones
Not as a giant,
Become their size
Jiggle your ****
Be silly
Lie on the floor, be their bouncy castle,
Even though all the wind is out
When you arise from the floor,
See through the eyes of your child
Imagination,
Dancing,
With your tongue wigging about,
Be the
Parent,
Uncle,
Aunty,
Granddad,
Or
Nan,
But every so often relax
Let the child within run rampant
And have some childish fun be free...
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 4:00 PM UTC
He had a bright yellow one, as yellow as a highlighter
I see them now and then on the highway and they stand out
like an important concept in a textbook, something to be taken note of
I rode in it once, and it was so clean, I felt like I could eat off the dashboard
and the doors were attached with the regular bolts and backpack shoulder strap material
which I have never figured out
and he looked even shorter, sinking into the seat, his longer legs stretched to the pedals
and his torso foreshortened and far away
and it was bouncy, and I was sure he could see my fat shake but I think that was the last thing on his mind.
We had dinner with another teacher, and his burrito arrived on his plate, and I felt like
I ate the inside of my taco salad and drank my beer and a few seconds passed and his plate
was empty and his eyes never seemed to leave me, not in a pleasant, admiring way
but with concern and fear, and attraction
and he finally burst forth in a flurry of worry about what would happen to the taco shell
would I eat it? take it? I should have offered it to him, but I can honestly say I've
never heard anyone so upset over a taco salad shell, and the waitress took it away
and I looked at him gently through my beer fog and he seemed to be pouting and squirming inside
On the way back he told me we had no future
At forty one the longest relationship he had had lasted three months
and clearly this one wouldn't work and I remember being confused
because I wasn't aware I had ever brought up a lasting bond
but it's true, I wanted his attention, his acceptance,
I felt so down, even losing a job I hated
and besides, he would leave all summer and not talk to anyone except his buddies
and those he met on the road
He was wiping the slate clean
I never liked him, only craved his attention and didn't enjoy it when
I rarely got it, and on my last day, which I worked hard to make happen
a little earlier than normal
I ran to him and hugged him and kissed his cheek
and it was not a high cheek bone and I cold feel five o'clock shadow,
and the wrinkles on his neck, his neck like a turtle's
and I begged him not to forget me, in a strange rush of madness
and he let out a cry of joy with the kiss
and said he wouldn't forget me, I was in his phone
It was like in Hebrew, where you say someone is "in" the phone, not "on" the phone
and I dreamt about going back to Israel that night, but not of him
He is somewhere with his buddies, in a bright red jeep
and I never really liked him
and can't this be the last time
I pursue and obsess over a man I don't even like
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 10:40 PM UTC
Take my hand - you've got to
feel fun time's heading
closer
Futuristic daydreams
are at hand -handy!
microchipped wild
boys and girls
on rent - hardly paid off -
dance! Roll the dice!
Flicker eyes!
Adrift on the dimlit
flourescent
effervescent
reflector rays°°°°you're
never lost or at loss;
Coloured circles glide
across the dancefloor______
bouncy boots swoon, high heels
crack, remastered barefoot Tribe~
Enjoys momentary revelations!
Latino lovers attracting
honey dew magnetic more-s
rain coats off - smiley coasts shine on~
those cunning shenanigan freckles
pressed redhair beauties against
needy torsos in ecco-leather jackets
electrified silhouettes stunning
like elves un-fading beauty
transforming tuxedos
of a tight
night; a jingle of
Prague crystals into
one dancing wave submerged
by the vicinity of hissing tongues
-been- beaten by fierce kissing
in a stronghold ballroom
frenzy - polarized
beatings - hi-s and bye-s ; a
stroboscopic syncopation
ecstatic hips,
space shuttle
trips
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 9:37 AM UTC
Tee hee, look at me!
Tight little ***** hey can you see?
Not a tan line on me!
I bask nakedly! Tee hee, tee hee!
Pay attention to me!
Tee hee hee, bikini hangin' free
Grab that thing of sunscreen oil
And rub it on freely!
Now I shine reflectively! Tee hee!
Tee hee is not just words to me
It's more a way of life, you see
Each **** that bounces bouncily
Says to the world, tee bouncy hee hee hee
So please upvote my poem, it's free
And score a point for li'l ol' me
Being so single hurts sorely!
Help a girl out, tee hee hee!
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 6:44 AM UTC
The room is bouncin
Wall to wall base so fat you can walk on it BLIP BLEEEP :-).
Chant and grind on syntho growl. Strobes hittin all the corners...locked on the groove bouncy move.
Mechanical funk....Double dutchin.
Hollan-daze orange crushin the room. Afro pulse Housin you down..Blip Bleep.
Two hours straight epical trance.....Old disco gone techno high. Strobed out on that techno Applejack meet Afrojack.
New trance city.
Luda an fitty
Ear hustlin this one
NuUrban stepchild drivin the beat...Blip Blip Bleeeep.
Hop til ya drop ta Tiesto
Super techno out your mind
More bounce to the ounce.
Got GaGa goin gaga
Dont stop.
Dont quit.
Blip Bleep.
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 7:25 AM UTC
slow time on the escalator
easy baby;
a life of leisure
and idle moments...
tra la la la li
head held high and proud
one foot on one step
and one foot lower:
it’s the picture of grace and ease;
it’s cool baby
stand leaning
with no care in the world
chatting with your friend
and let your new floral skirts
wipe clean the glass sides;
life’s a breeze
on the escalator,
fashion baby
hands on the handrail
and the other waving at friends
waiting at the end;
shake hands when you’re down
and pass the germs on
to your cheerful buddies;
O life’s a breeze
on the escalator,
bouncy baby
it’s like a slow-motion movie
this chic life on the escalator
as still as when you stand window-shopping
gazing at new lingerie on display
like admiring a field of flowers:
O live the moment
baby,
this escalator life’s cool and easy
slow time on the escalator
easy baby;
a life of leisure
and idle moments...
tra la la la li
Oct 1, 2010
Oct 1, 2010 at 7:02 PM UTC
´
You came to me
as a vision
as a mirage
as soft shadows
landing low
Warmly loving
the hot bouncy
paws
and their
delicate dance
across Dali's
Tangible
soundless motions
obssesive mushy
desserted sands
of time's
Kaleidoscopic
fractal falling
Swirling
back into
the theatre of dreams
Tuning a
migrating
midnight to
those silent, evanescent
melodies
yearning
craving
to be played
once more
and adored on longplays
Spiraling and spinning
in my memory
like a skilled
reindeer wafting
wet air through fresh
nostrils, a defiant elegance
fluttering around as colourful
wings move the magnificent
leap of a sinew lyinx
to tremble
among spring greenery
Got to develop gentle moves.
Silent. Soundless. Elegant.
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 10:14 AM UTC
I named her after nature
she came wobbling to me
from behind a flower vase
petals clinging to her soft fur.
No other name would have suited
this little bouncy pet
better than 'petals'
she just wanted that name
all for herself.
an extra biscuit for you today.
Author Notes
My Labrador named herself.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 12 days ago
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 6:51 PM UTC
Ah, where to begin, take it from the crown,
And roll down the usual bump of your bouncy hairsanality,
Teasing your cerebrum with every spin,
Then quietly continue along your slender necking with a whisper,
To gently land on the heavy shouldering of your broad world,
Resting a moment to tickle loose those knots of compassion,
Move onward carefully, tiptoe to your pendant earlobes,
Grown wise from listening freely, flirting for a subtle nibble.
Lets swing over to perch on the bow of your maple cheeks,
Held up by the strength of your Ernest smile,
A spring of rose petals on a landscape of pure snow,
Alas, how the rose must envy the radiant hue of your lips,
Now, leap off to the cushion of your ample *****
Perfect for nourishing presents of unique creation,
The pounding of your heart, speaks through, ba-dum ba-dum
Half the necessary beat to a lifelong dance, till death.
Next, a slide down the concave curves, slim fitting to your flawless figure,
To carriage at your slender swinging hips,
The favorite resting place of your healing hands,
Supporting the vertebrae that keeps strong your secure dorsal,
Start at the bottom and slowly shiver up the spine,
Only to shake back down with a relieved sigh, past the seeds of life,
And massage down sturdy legs carrying you through strife,
Come to a rest on the tip of your twinkle toes,
Those shine at the end of your lily starfeet.
With hopes that they’re moving to a compass where I mimic north,
And those bright almond eyes cast their gaze through the pane,
Your visage, making the difference between my dawn and dusk.
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 11:11 PM UTC
DURING THIS VISIT
I am a layman laid up
with a very dodgy ankle
that winced about Paris
for almost a week with
every footaghhhhhhhfall.
Now it's the A&E;
for me.
The electronic noticeboard
flashes up its what nots
faster than I
can scan.
I barely catch CQC
Good( shadow )Rating.
Two wheelchairs
(peopleless)
chat about the this of that
typical wheelchair chit-chat.
A portable X-ray machine
pretends to be a giraffe.
"oooooOOOOK...we are going to get
Geoff the Giraffe to have a look at that!"
The child smiles
through the pain.
The screen peppers me
with possibilities.
Extremely likely?
Neither Likely nor Unlikely?
Etc., etc., etc.
My mind opts for
a simple I Don't Know.
"Breast." says the screen."
"Max Fax & Orthodontics."
"Re-hab shouldn't be boring!"
A questionnaire asks me
to think.
Big mistake.
I start to think.
Pain & Boredom
turns these hospitalised facts
( what ever they mean? )
into a something only
my brain can understand.
"And now, straight in at No.!
with a fantastic new single it's...
...Max Fax & The Orthodontics
with the glorious bouncy
BREAST!"
"MORTALITY by
The Upper Quartile
falls down one place to
No. 2!"
My shadow is feeling
very poorly at this
instant
in time.
Hasn't even bothered
to turn up.
There goes my good
(shadow)rating.
I think I'll switch
to silhouette instead.
I practice my Ogham.
SAT 4 APRIL
says the clock.
It's hands joined
together in prayer.
I switch
off my mind &
float
down
stream.
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 7:22 PM UTC